


Claustrophobic - Trapped In The Dark, Seperated From You

by audhds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean-Centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Sam Winchester, Panic Attacks, Panicking Dean, Phobias, Protective Dean Winchester, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audhds/pseuds/audhds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has been crushed by a bookcase, Dean is nowhere to be found and John has to make the hardest decision of his life. He has to leave Dean behind to save Sammy. But what damage could this do to his eldest son, who has been trapped in a tiny pocket of darkness for hours unable to help his screaming brother. Panic attacks, sick!Dean Teen!chester very Hurt!Dean and Hurt!Sam</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claustrophobic - Trapped In The Dark, Seperated From You

Claustrophobic  
Trapped In the Dark, Waiting For You

John quickly rounded a corner into an old reading room, gun hand outstretched, ready to shoot any son of a bitch who dared to come anywhere near him. It was the twenty-fourth room that they had searched; he had already made a mental note never to search a mansion again. John was not in a good mood. He was tired, fed up, hungry and still slightly drunk from a lunchtime-pub crawl. All in all, John Winchester was dangerous.

"All clear, come on boys." The next figure to walk in was lanky, wearing a scruffy grey hoodie, jeans and a frown. His long brown hair was flopping into his eyes and he looked almost as pissed off as John, but not for the same reasons.

"Dad, can we go now? There's nothing here, this is a waste of time. I have homework due in tomorrow and I need to proof-read my essay before I hand it in to Mr Dant. He predicted me an A and I don't want to let him down!"

"No Sammy, I call the shots around here and I think a poltergeist is more important than your history homework, don't you?"

"No, I don't. I want to go back; I don't see why I had to come. You and Dean could have done this alone, it's not like anything is happening. How am I meant to get anywhere in life if I don't get good grades?"

"YOU DON'T NEED GOOD GRADES TO BE A HUNTER, NOW SHUT UP BEFORE I AM FORCED TO USE THIS GUN."

"Dad, Sammy?" That was when a rather dejected looking Dean entered the room. He had been back marker, guarding Sammy from behind, which of course left himself unprotected, not that Dean cared.

"WHAT?" Dean was met with two equally indignant raised voices. Great, do they ever stop fighting?

"Please stop arguing for one moment, you're doing my head in. Anyway, there's only one more room to…" Dean was cut off by the sound of shattering glass. He whipped around to stare at Sammy, who had gone white, and then saw a million little shards of blue glass littering the floor.

"Please tell me you knocked that vase over with one of your overly lanky arms?"

"Nope."

"Get down!" John Winchester's cry was the only warning that eleven year old Sam and fifteen year old Dean got before they were thrown backwards into a wall.

"Boy's!"

"M'fine Dad." Dean managed to stumble to his feet, grimacing when a searing hot pain shot through his leg. He glanced down and saw that his jeans were already starting to turn red. Damn it! Dean carefully prodded at the wound, it was deep, really deep, but now was not the time to be a girl; he would stitch the cut up later.

Once he had orientated himself Dean took a few steps towards Sam, offering him a hand up, glad that his younger brother looked slightly dazed but was otherwise unhurt. Dean then moved away from his brother and began looking around wearily with his gun tight in hand. He was keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement, although the furniture was all still and nothing was flying around the room. It was eerie.

"Where is it Dad?" Sam sounded slightly shaken despite his efforts to contain his fear. He hadn't failed to notice that Dean was bleeding, although he knew that Dean would not let him tend to the wound until the fugly had been snuffed out like a candle.

"Your guess is as good as mine. COME OUT YOU SON OF A BITCH, I AM SO NOT IN THE MOOD TO PLAY GAMES. GET YOU'RE ASS OUT HERE SO I CAN GIVE IT A GOOD KICKING!" That was when a solid oak bookcase suddenly went flying, knocking John aside into a wall, where he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"DAD!" Dean sprinted over to his father, who did not respond when Dean gave him a gentle shake.

"Dad wake up, DAD! Open your eyes dammit!" John still did not make a sound, in fact he just slumped further down against the wall when Dean let go of his shoulders. Dean grimaced and began to press his hand gently to the back of John's head, flinching when something warm and sticky coated his fingers.

"Sam, Sammy help me, I need a cloth or something!" Dean held a hand out expectantly, turning around when he didn't hear his brother's footsteps.

"Sam? Where are you?" Dean quickly yanked off his own T-shirt and wrapped it around his father's head, it was all he could do for now. Leaving his leather jacket on the floor Dean scrambled to his feet, staring around in blind panic. His brother had vanished into thin air! No Dean, that's not possible. Then Dean spotted his younger brother.

"Shit, SAMMY!"

Sam was lying in the floor with his eyes screwed tight shut in agony, his leg having been crushed beneath the oak bookcase.

"Sammy, Sammy can you hear me? Open your eyes Sam, it'll be ok, I've got you. I'm right here."

"D-Dean." Sam didn't open his eyes; his voice was a low whimper that caught in his throat.

"Just breathe Sammy, I'm gonna try and get this off you."

"D'nt. Hurts."

"I've got to; we need to get you out of here. It will just take a moment." Dean wiped the tears from Sam's eyes before standing and getting a good hold on the bookcase. He struggled with all his might to shift the furniture but it was solid wood and might as well have weighed a tonne. There was no way Dean could lift it. He could hear his little brother sobbing and letting out howls of pain, each one driving a dagger even deeper into Dean's heart.

"Shit!"

"Dean..." Sam was hit by another roll of pain which caused him to scream out so loudly that Dean flinched.

"S'okay. Sam, breathe Sam. C'mon, breathe through it."

"Gahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Sam let out another howl and began to thrash frantically, his mind numb with burning pain.

"Sammy, please, calm down." Dean forced himself to remain calm when he saw his brother sobbing and dry heaving, hands flailing and clawing at the floor.

"Make it stooooop!" Dean hoisted his brother into his arms and held him close, trying to stop Sam from moving and causing any more damage.

"You're ok little brother, just try and relax, you can pass out if you need to, I won't take the mick, I promise." Sam whimpered and buried his face into Dean's bare chest, clawing at his brother's back for support and leaving behind deep scratches which Dean ignored.

"I've got you."

"Dean?"

"I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"S'rry." Sam let out a tiny whimper before he passed out, causing Dean to relax slightly when he felt his younger brother slump against him; at least he wasn't in any more pain.

Dean didn't have a clue about what to do. He needed to get the bookcase off Sam's leg, but didn't want to cause any more damage and there was no way he was going to be able to lift it on his own. He needed his Dad to wake up and help him, and they needed to salt and burn that poltergeist before anything else could go wrong…speaking of which, where was the poltergeist?

Dean was immediately made aware of where the poltergeist was when a framed tapestry depicting a boat in the middle of a storm fell to the ground, the frame splintering. Dean growled deep in the back of his throat before laying Sam down on the ground and standing. He knew that he had to get the poltergeist away from his family, they couldn't fight back at the moment and there was no way that Dean could defend them and fight the spirit at the same time. He had to lead it away, it was his only option. It was his job.

"Hey, want a piece of this perky ass, well, who doesn't? Come and get it!" Dean turned and sprinted from the reading room, gasping when he put pressure on his injured leg but ignoring the pain. It was a small sacrifice. Dean was alerted that he was being followed when a photo frame whizzed past his right ear, and then when an ornamental sword flew off its bracket and cut deep into Dean's shoulder. Dean fell to the ground momentarily but used a banister to hoist himself back to his feet. He had made it to one of the grand staircases and decided that upstairs was one of his best options, as far away from his brother as possible.

He scrambled up the steps and through the last door at the end of the landing. Then, he whipped around and waited, firing his salt-loaded gun into nothingness when he felt the air to his right turn cold.

"Where are you? Now that you got me into the bedroom you could at least have the courtesy to show your face. If this relationship is going any further then I at least want to know what you look…ahh!" Dean was cut off when he was thrown backwards into something solid, and then everything went black.

What the hell? Am I unconscious, this is new…I swear I don't normally feel this awake when I am out of it…wait a sec…my leg hurts. Right, not unconscious then…

Suddenly a jolting sensation hit Dean and his stomach seemed to roll, along with the rest of Dean's world. That was when it hit him. He was trapped somewhere dark and now the door of whatever it was that he was trapped in, was face down. Dean began punching and kicking at the wall now above him, bruising his knuckles and eventually giving up when he felt the skin beginning to tear.

Pull yourself together Dean, you will get out.

Dean reached out a hand and tried to feel around him, gasping slightly when he felt four solid walls surrounding him. Shit.

"HEY FUGLY, LET ME THE HELL OUT! I AM SO NOT INTO THIS KINKY STUFF, IF WE ARE GOING TO HAVE FUN IN THE BEDROOM YOU BETTER LET ME OUT OF HERE. NOW YOU SON OF A BITCH. LET ME OUT!" Dean didn't hear or feel anything happening, well that was plan A scuppered….

Dean had lost track of how long he had been trapped. His entire body was aching all over and he felt awful. He had tried his best to wrap his jeans around his cut leg but had no material left for his shoulder, which was still oozing blood. Judging by the intense throbbing Dean was certain that the wound on his leg was infected, god knows what he had cut it on, but he couldn't see a thing in the pitch darkness and he didn't have anything to clean the wound with anyway. He was beginning to feel dizzy as well and he was certain that it was getting harder and harder to breath.

A few hours later Dean began to call out again, he had been trapped in the box for seven hours and was getting increasingly terrified. His breaths were coming in harsh pants and he was shaking all over. He needed to get out; he needed to know if his Sammy and Dad were alright.

"Let me out! Please!" Dean's voice came out as little more than a croak; he had yelled himself completely hoarse.

"Please…Dad? Sammy?" Dean curled up a little tighter and rested his chin on his knees, feeling a rising sense of panic. It had been hours now, why hadn't his dad found him and got him out yet? Surely John would have woken up by now? John would have come and found Dean if he could, wouldn't he? That only left the option of John still being unconscious. Either way things were not looking good for Dean.

Dean felt a lump rise in his throat and desperately tried to fight the rising panic, but it wasn't working, he was choking, suffocating. He couldn't breathe, he was certain that the walls were closing in on him. He couldn't move.

"DAD!" Dean called out as loud as he could, punching the wall in front of him before the first few tears slipped down his face. Soon he was sobbing uncontrollably and Dean couldn't hold it back any more, he was terrified. Dean had no idea what was wrong with Sam and his Dad, whether they were even awake yet, whether they were dead, whether they were looking for him.

After another five hours Dean felt sick and was beginning to tremble violently, and not because it was cold in the wardrobe, which is what Dean now assumed he was trapped in. His thoughts were becoming irrational and he just couldn't stop crying. Despite the cold Dean was sweating profusely and he felt nauseous. His head was spinning rapidly and it felt as if someone was treading on his temples. After a few minutes of desperately trying to keep down the contents of his stomach, it gave another huge roll and this time Dean vomited all over himself, unable to aim anywhere else due to the cramped conditions.

Dean groaned as his stomach cramped, doubling up and rubbing at his abdomen as he tried to control his rapid breathing. It was no use.

Dean began to hyperventilate, tears streaming down his face as he found himself throwing up again. Now he really couldn't breathe. With one last whimper Dean fainted, hoping with all his might that his family were alright and would find him soon.

…

John stirred with a groan, his head was pounding and there was something wrapped around it, blocking his vision. What the hell? He quickly moved the material from his eyes and realised that it was Dean's T-shirt, but Dean was nowhere to be seen.

"Dean? DEAN? Where are you buddy?" John stumbled to his feet and took a look around the room, seeing his youngest son lying limp on the floor underneath a bookcase. It didn't take much to put two and two together, but this didn't explain where Dean was.

"Hey, Sammy, you with me my boy?" John made his way slowly over to his unconscious son and wiped the sweat from his forehead, sighing in relief when a pair of hazel eyes blinked up at him.

"Dad?"

"I'm here son, how are you feeling, can you see me ok?"

"L-leg."

"I know son, did you hit your head?"

"I-don't think so. Ahh, it hurrrts!" Sam began to sob and reached out to scrabble at John's leather jacket when he felt his father stand up.

"S'okay. I'm not going anywhere, just gonna get this off your leg. Here, drink this." John pulled his hipflask from his pocket and handed it to his youngest son, who gulped down the whiskey as fast as he could, waiting for numbness to sink in. John knew that alcohol was the last thing you should give to an injured person, let alone a child, but it was the only thing he had. Alcohol was the one medication you could always rely on and therefore the one that you could always find in a hunter's bag or pocket.

"Where's Dean? I want Dean." John wanted to cry, but instead he put on a stoic mask and turned his attention to the job in hand. Years as a hunter had conditioned him for situations like this, he knew he had to be brave for his sons and that he couldn't show weakness. He was the predator, not the prey.

"I don't know yet." John saw the look of panic on his son’s face and realised that it reflected his own feelings, the what ifs that he was battling. It wasn't like Dean to leave his family if they were hurt, John was sure that something had happened to his eldest son, but there was nothing he could do about it at that instant. Right now Sam was his priority.

"Sam, I need you to bite down hard on this." John balled up Dean's t-shirt and placed the part which was not covered in blood into Sam's lips. Sam gagged a little but followed the order, looking up at his father with bloodshot eyes.

"Ok, I'm gonna lift this in three, two…" John never waited until he got to one, instead grabbing the bookcase and hauling it up with all of his might, managing to shift it a couple of feet to his right before dropping it to the floor beside Sam, who was screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Ok, ok son, it's over now." John knelt down beside Sam and felt sick, his son's leg was covered in deep bruises in varying shades of purple, blue and black and it was obvious that his tibia was broken in at least one place.

"I want Dean!"

"I know. I'll find him in a minute. I'm sure he's doing fine. Let me just strap your leg up and get you into the Impala. The last thing we want is you to have another run in with that poltergeist." Sam whimpered but could not voice his complaints anymore; it hurt too much for anything comprehensible to come out of his mouth, only whimpers, gasps and grunts were tumbling past his lips.

John stood and made his way over to the hateful bookcase, quickly unscrewing the bolts keeping the shelves together with his bare hands, at least it was old and not made very well. Soon he was carrying a plank of wood about the size of Sam's leg.

"I'm going to lift your leg up and slide this under it; I need you to relax for me. Don't try and move. I need to keep it straight, ok." Sam merely grunted and waited for the pain, which certainly did not disappoint. Within seconds Sam had passed out, not even coming around when John strapped his leg onto the board with some old tablecloths he found in the dining room, or when his father scooped him up and laid him down in the back of the Impala.

Dean came round to the sound of screaming from downstairs and felt sick to his stomach. He would recognize that cry anywhere. Sammy was in trouble, Sammy needed him and there was nothing he could do about it. With a moan of frustration Dean attempted to kick at the door but blinding pain flashed through his leg and he slumped back in frustration. Things couldn't get worse than this. Dean's one job was to look after his brother yet he couldn't. He was failing and there was nothing he could no about it but wait.

Dad, you have to find me! Please let me out of here.

Dean curled himself up further and wrapped his arms around his head and ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds of his screaming brother. It didn't work and Dean's breathing began to hitch as he attempted to calm down. The sense of fear was overpowering and despite all of his efforts to breathe properly and to not panic, it just wasn't happening.

I'm a hunter, you can do this Dean, Dad will get you out in a minute…just a minute. There is plenty of air in here…for now. Breathe…Oh god I can't breathe! There's not enough air, I'm going to die…LET ME OUT!

Dean felt sick, his stomach was cramping again but there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up, so he ended up dry heaving, clutching at his torso when he felt his lungs tighten and constrict, pain shooting through his chest. Dean felt as if he was about to choke and let out a tiny whimper when once again he tried to move and once again he was unable to uncurl due to his confined conditions.

With another sob Dean began counting his breaths in and out in an attempt to remain focused, but it wasn't working. If anything this just highlighted how long he was being confined for, reminding him that soon he would run out of air and that he couldn't get out. He opened his mouth wide and began panting; wishing for some water or anything liquid that would ease his dry mouth, but there was nothing. The stench of stale vomit clouded Dean's senses as exhaustion waved over him, causing Dean to fall into an uneasy sleep.

The sound of his brother's screams echoed through his nightmares.

…

After John had put Sammy in the Impala he had found the body, fried its bacon and returned to the house, all in record time. He really didn't want to run into the poltergeist again as it would just hinder him when he was trying to find Dean. Yes he had wasted some time, but it seemed to him that it would be better helping Dean now as opposed to when a poltergeist was throwing things about.

Shoot first, ask questions later. After everything the bones hadn't been hard to find. This was a routine hunt and John had no idea just how everything had gone so badly.

John had also done a quick search of the bottom floor of the mansion, but it wasn't quick enough. He knew that if he left it much longer, Sammy would loose too much blood, or the wound could get infected, which could lead to even more severe consequences. Pneumonia, amputation…death. The eldest hunter knew he didn't have a choice. Dean was nowhere to be found and he didn't have any more time to waste. He just had to hope that Dean would be able to hold his own for a few more hours, enough time for John to run Sam to the hospital, return, and find his eldest son.

I'm so sorry Dean.

John turned and ran to the Impala, getting into the front seat and forcing himself not to look back at the mansion. He knew that if he did, he would change his mind and jeopardise Sam's life. He kept telling himself that Dean was a hunter, he could look after himself. Dean was made of strong stuff, he could fight…but that didn't explain why he had seemingly disappeared off the edge of the earth and wasn't answering his shouts, or pleas.

By the time John reached the hospital he was sick with worry, for both of his sons. Sam was still unconscious and was being wheeled into the operating theatre on some sort of metal contraption supposedly called a bed. To John it resembles a cage rather than a place of rest. And Dean, well, god knows what was happening to Dean.

He had been forced to answer countless questions, most of which he answered truthfully. His son had been crushed by a bookcase. No, he didn't know how. No, he hadn't seen it happen. Yes, he had found his son. Yes, he had been the one that had pulled the bookcase off Sam's leg. His favourite colour was blue. His mother's maiden name... He preferred cats to dogs. John tried to keep the sarcasm out of his mind and tone, but he was failing somewhat.

The questions went on and on and John couldn't help but think how pointless they were. Of course, they were doing their best and only asking about what had happened to Sam, but to John that didn't matter. He had to get back to Dean.

The nurses didn't seem to notice how on edge John was despite him bobbing from foot to foot, flinching at every loud noise and huffing repetitively to get the message across that he needed to go.

Yes, he had given his son alcohol. Yes, he knew that was irresponsible. No, he had not learnt his lesson; he had saved his son from enduring excruciating agony for a longer period of time. Yes, he knew he shouldn't leave and should be there for his son when he came out of the operating theatre.

Yes, but I should also go back to some crappy mansion and check that my other son is alive…don't think like that John, he's fine. Absolutely fine, probably asleep or eating knowing Dean.

When John finally managed to escape the hospital, leaving behind some crappy excuses and his mobile number, he let out a sigh of relief.

Dean needed him more than Sam now. The youngest Winchester was in good hands and John would be no use sitting next to an unconscious boy. Sentimentality was not his strong point anyway.

By the time he reached the mansion John wanted nothing more than to pinch himself and wake up from this nightmare, but it wasn't a nightmare.

He had been at the hospital for five hours, it had taken him an hour to get there and an hour to get back, and he had been knocked unconscious at 10pm and had woken up again at 3am. That meant that Dean had been missing for around 13 hours in total, it was now 11 in the morning. It had been too long. Far too long.

John sprinted through the front door, not bothering with his salt gun. The poltergeist was dead, well deader, anyway. All that mattered now was the damage that it had left behind.

John checked the last few rooms on the bottom floor which he hadn't had the chance to search before. There was nothing there, which meant that Dean was upstairs. Maybe he had tried to lead the poltergeist away from him and Sam. He was selfless like that and John didn't know whether to be proud of the fact or to tell his son off for not valuing his life enough. He would make his mind up when he found out how much of a state Dean was in.

Hurtling up the stairs John didn't even pause to catch his breath. Where would Dean go? As far away from his family as possible if it meant protecting them. John knew where Dean would be, right down the end of the corridor, on the other side of the only door which was closed. And locked.

John began to throw all of his considerable weight at the door. He may not have been as fit and young as he used to be, but he was pretty much solid muscle. The door came crashing to the floor in next to no time and John would bet his life that he knew where Dean was. A small oak wardrobe was lying on its front, the door pinned to the floor. Great. Just great.

What is it with damned furniture?!

"Dean, can you hear me Dean? You in there son?" John heard no response and chose a few choice swearwords before hauling the wardrobe upright, it seemed to weigh a tonne. He then bit his lip, fearing the worst and reaching out a trembling hand to the door handle, terrified at what he would find.

John recoiled at the smell from the wardrobe, stale vomit the first thing that hit him. The second was shock at the current condition of his son. Dean was huddled up in a tiny ball with both of his hands held protectively over his head. Without his top on, Dean's milky skin was on view, as were the thousands of goosebumps that littered it.

John could even make out the violent tremors that shook through his son's body.

He could hear gasping breaths coming from Dean's mouth and the occasional whimper that escaped his lips. What the hell happened to him?

"Dean, c'mon champ, let's get you outta there." Dean showed no sign of moving, or of even hearing his father, so John leant in, wrapped an arm around Dean's back and under his knees, lifting his eldest son out of the wardrobe and eased him down onto the floor next to the four poster bed.

Dean let out a muffled shriek, shaking even more uncontrollably and struggling to get onto all fours. His breaths were coming hard and fast, as if he was trying to gulp down the air like a glass of water. Tears rolled down his cheeks and Dean made no move to wipe them away. He made no move at all.

"Ace, talk to me Ace, are you hurt?" John spotted the blood around Dean's shoulder and cursed, the gash looked deep and the area around it was bruised and swollen. He cautiously pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it over the wound, applying pressure. Dean had other ideas in mind though, letting out a terrified scream and struggling against whatever it was that was holding him down. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. With one last gasp for air Dean fell forward into a dead faint, his limbs sprawling out. 

John couldn't believe his eyes. Dean, his Dean, had fainted. Fainted? His son did not faint. Ever. Period. What the hell?

With a sigh John rolled his son into the recovery position and noted that there was blood soaking through Dean's trousers. In the words of a wise man, Balls!

John grabbed some sheets off the bed and wrapped them around Dean's leg in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, putting on a fake, reassuring smile when Dean let out a small groan and came round.

"Hey Buddy, you with me now?"

"D-Daddy?" John tried to bite back his shock; he couldn't remember the last time Dean had called him that.

"I'm here son, you're fine now."

"I-I-Couldn't-" Dean struggled to find a sufficient explanation for what he couldn't do, so instead he hauled himself into a sitting position, wrapping an arm around his aching stomach and closing his eyes.

"You did great Dean, just fine. Do you think we can go get you cleaned up? Sam will be waiting for us."

"SAMMY!" Dean's eyes shot open and he looked as if he was going to be sick again. He would have been if he had anything left to throw up.

"Hey, calm down. He's fine, I got him to hospital."

"Hospital?" Dean couldn't quite keep all of the hurt out of his tone. If his dad had already been to the hospital, that meant he had just left Dean all alone in that cupboard for hours. He could have been really hurt. Well, that just showed where Dean came on the scale of most important thing in the world to a waste of space. He guessed he was nearing the latter end of that spectrum.

"Yeah." John hadn't failed to register the hurt, or the tears that welled up in his son's eyes. "I'm sorry Dean, Sam was bleeding out and I couldn't find you. I know it must have been horrible to be stuck in there for so long, but I couldn't let Sam die. You know that." Dean gave a small nod and looked even more miserable. 

How had he jumped to conclusions? Of course Sam came first; Sam was the most important thing in the world. How could he have been selfish enough not to ask about his little brother earlier, or to have a go at his dad for not rescuing him?

"I-I'm so sorry. It was my fault; I should have stopped him from getting hurt. It should have been me that got crushed. Is he ok Dad? I'm sorry."

"Dean, it wasn't your fault, by the looks of things you are in just as bad a state, no offence but you look like crap. Let's get you back to the car and cleaned up. Do you think you can walk? Your brother will be fine." Dean nodded and gritted his teeth, still trembling violently.

Feeling like a class A jerk, Dean struggled to his feet, swaying alarmingly. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have collapsed if it hadn't been for his father's strong arms supporting him around the waist.

The pair made their way slowly downstairs; Dean's legs buckling so many times that John eventually gave up and scooped his son up bridal style as he had with Sam. He then propped Dean against the car, opened the trunk and pulled out some spare clothes, pills, bandages and a bottle of water. Dean took the water and began to gulp it down, desperate to get rid of the acrid taste in his mouth and swallowing two pills down whole. He just wanted to be numb.

In the meantime, John had pulled Dean's jeans down and had started to stitch up the wound. Dean grimaced in pain but didn't make a sound. He had already made a fool of himself enough.

When John was done he left his son to let him get dressed, offering a little privacy. However, a few minutes later he heard a loud thump and hurried back around to find Dean lying sprawled out on the floor, unconscious. It seemed as though shock had well and truly settled into Dean, exhaustion, pain meds and fear mingling and resulting in his collapse. Again.

With a sigh John decided to let his son remain out of it a bit longer, just until they reached the hospital. He looked practically skeletal with black bags under his eyes and it would probably be best if Dean didn't look like the living dead when they arrived. The difference a few hours could make to a usually handsome boy's face was frankly alarming and with two hurt sons, John really didn't need the social services poking their noses into his business.

He carefully scooped Dean up again and slid him into the passenger seat of the Impala, carefully closing the door behind his son and the trunk before getting into the drivers seat. Now that his immediate fear for Dean had been quelled, John was left wondering what had happened to make his son break. It definitely wasn't the pain, which left either the dark or the confined spaces. John assumed it was the latter, Dean had never really feared the dark, he never feared anything, but it was fair to say that he was weary of what came out in the dark.

So apparently Dean is claustrophobic, he thought to himself.

John looked down at his son and tried to assure himself that he had done the right thing, leaving Dean for hours in a tiny wardrobe, but the truth was, part of him knew he should have continued searching and found Dean sooner. Surely Sam could have waited another ten minutes.

Or not.

He just didn't know anymore.

With thoughts circling round John's head, he knew this was going to be a long drive.

…

John pulled up into the hospital car park and jumped out of the car, opening the passenger door and gently shaking his son awake.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty." Dean's emerald green eyes blinked up at his father and he gave a small nod, accepting John's hand out of the car and leaning against him heavily. His leg was beginning to hurt again despite the painkillers and he still felt shaky. However, Sam was his number one priority right now and Dean was determined to be the best older brother ever in an attempt to make things up to Sam, this was his fault after all, no matter what his dad said. He should have found a way to move the wardrobe. He should have held his brother's hand when he was in pain, no, scratch that. He should have taken his brother's pain away, no matter the cost.

John, finally convinced that Dean could support himself, led the boy into the hospital, waving at one of the nurses he saw earlier to get her attention. She gave him a cold smile as if to say, I still can't believe you left your son when he was in the operating theatre, but as soon as she saw Dean her face relaxed a little. At least that explained why the man had rushed off; he had gone to collect his other son, who frankly looked to be in a pretty awful state as well.

"Is he out of the operating theatre yet?" John got straight down to business, he had spent long enough away from his second born.

"They just wheeled him down to recovery, I am heading that way now, you can follow me. Are you feeling alright sweetie?" She addressed Dean in a sickly sweet voice, giving him a reassuring smile and a squeeze on his shoulder, making the boy flinch. She then turned and strutted down the corridor, her heels making an obscene amount of noise before he had a chance to answer. Then again, he would have lied, so it didn't really matter. Dean glared after her contemptuously before following. How he would love to add her to his hit list!

The corridors seemed to go on forever, looping together like a yard of string. Unwinding them would be like trying to unravel the mysteries of the universe! However, the length of the corridors was not Dean's problem, no, his problem was the fact that the further they traveled, the narrower they seemed to become. When they were just three corridors away from the recovery room Dean stopped dead in his tracks, making John turn around when he could no longer hear his son's footsteps.

"Dean? What's wrong buddy?" The colour had completely drained from Dean's face, he was leaning heavily against a wall and struggling to stay upright, tears pooling out of the corners of his squeezed-shut eyes.

"C-can't breathe." Dean seemed to suddenly go rigid, tensing up and gasping for air. John shot the nurse a look of panic before attempting to help Dean, whose legs had just buckled.

"Dean, c'mon Dean. You're fine Ace, you can breathe. It's just your mind playing tricks on you. Just think of Sam, he needs you buddy."

"C-cant." Dean stumbled to his feet, pulling away from his father's reassuring hands and sprinting as fast as he could back the way he came and out of a fire exit door, ignoring the beeps of protest the alarm gave and the nurse's calls.

"DEAN!" John hurried after his son, who being young and fit had long lost the older hunter. Dammit.

John realised from a distant beeping that his eldest son had probably busted out of the hospital through a fire exit and headed off in the same direction, soon finding Dean in the middle of some tennis courts behind the hospital. His son was hunched over retching violently, shudders rippling through his body as the world spun around him.

Dean looked terrible, he was pale, shaking and crying; a sight John never thought he would see. He had gone from not seeing Dean cry for years to seeing him sobbing more than once in a single day. It was safe to say that John didn't care much for the change. He had never been one for emotions and had no idea about how to comfort his son. And all the while, there was a nagging presence in the back of his mind telling him to go and check on Sam. But he couldn't leave Dean again, he just couldn't.

"Hey Ace, can you hear me. You're alright champ." John approached his son cautiously, kneeling down on the too-green fake grass and rubbing soothing circles on Dean's back. Or at least what he had thought would be soothing circles. It turned out that Dean did not find them reassuring, in fact, he went berserk. Something was holding him down, placing pressure on his back, preventing him from moving. He couldn't move, he couldn't get out, he couldn't breathe.

"NO! LET ME GO, LET ME OUT!" John removed his hands at record speed as if Dean's body had scorched him, not his terrified voice and pleas.

"Dean, you have to calm down. I need you to breathe for me."

But Dean couldn't calm down and he couldn't breathe, he was choking on carbon dioxide. It was diffusing into his lungs, he wasn't getting enough oxygen. He was going to die. Dean sobbed brokenly, tears streaming down his cheeks, which had taken on a flushed, pink hue. He felt as if he was having a heart attack, his heart was beating so fast, and the pain in his chest only worsened Dean's shaking.

"Dean, Dean, look at me." Green eyes blinked up at John, but it was clear that Dean was not with him.

"D-" Dean's mouth had gone so dry that he could barely get the sound out. He felt as if he had cried out all of the moisture in his body.

"Shh, son. It's ok, it will all be over in a minute. Nothing is going to hurt you, you aren't trapped, you are in the middle of a field. There is plenty of oxygen, see?" John took a deep breath to illustrate, he had never seen his son in such a state and to be frank, it scared him.

Dean didn't bother responding; choosing instead to close his eyes and wait for the dizziness, nausea and churning sensation in his stomach to disappear.

John kept up a litany of it's okays and it's not reals, being careful not to put any pressure on Dean's body. He kept his distance until Dean's breathing seemed to have evened out of its own accord, fifteen minutes later. By the time it was all over Dean looked exhausted, his face drawn and pale as he huddled over his stomach, a few straggling tears trickling down his cheeks.

"Dean, do you feel ok now son?"

"Yeah, I-I'm fine. C-can we go and find Sammy now?" Dean put up his walls again, trying to hide his fear and embarrassment. He couldn't believe he had thrown up in front of his Dad, or run out of hospital, or cried. He had actually cried. God he was never going to hear the end of this, he was such a girl.

"You sure buddy?"

"Yes, sorry."

"You don't have to apologise son, I've got you."

"I was weak. Sam needed me and I…"

"You were not weak Dean, you were scared, and you are perfectly entitled to be. Everyone gets scared at times."

"You don't."

"Of course I get scared Dean, I am only human."

"Yeah, well what are you scared of then?" What killed Mary. Something coming after you and Sammy and hurting you. Having to bury my sons.

"Jellyfish." John lied easily. It was second nature to him.

"Jellyfish?"

John gave a fake shudder.

"Hell yeah, slippery sons of bitches. They just kinda float around and then bam, you're the one that's jell-o." Dean found himself actually laughing. His dad, the man he looked up to, was afraid of a fish.

"Hey, don't laugh at me."

"Sorry Dad." Dean got to his feet a little shakily and allowed his father to wrap an arm around his waist, supporting him until they got back to the main entrance of the hospital. Dean hadn't realised quite how far he had managed to run, his mind had been all over the place!

When they got back to the hospital a rather concerned and flustered looking nurse ran over to them…Dean recognised her as the woman who had helped them earlier. Great, as if things couldn't get any more embarrassing!

"Are you two alright, you look a little pale honey." Honey, who the hell is this bitch?!

"He's fine, just doesn't like small spaces much, do ya kiddo?"

"No." Dean kept his head down and mumbled an answer, beginning to walk down the same corridors as before, once again following the nurse. But this time, John was right behind him, chatting pointlessly to try and keep his son calm. They passed the point where Dean had freaked out and Dean, although visibly paling, did not have another panic attack. Instead, his face set in determination as he made it down the last three corridors and burst into the room housing Sammy, who was sitting up a little and blinking blearily up at his older brother.

"Dean?"

"Hey Sammy, you ok?"

"Y-yeah I'm fine. Ice cream, can I have ice cream?" Sam began to grin at Dean, his eyes vacant and focused a few inches away from Dean's face.

"Sam?"

"Your brother is on some strong pain medication for his leg; he may be a little confused and out of character for a bit." The nurse quickly filled Dean and John in before taking her leave.

"Deeean!" This time Sam's voice had taken on a whiny tone and he reached a hand out to his brother, who looked confused but walked over anyway.

"Hey Sammy."

"Sit with me." Dean did, perching on Sam's bed and running a hand through Sam's hair, which was far too long in his opinion.

"You look white, like milk, but milk looks better than you right now. Partly cos I'm thirsty and partly cos you look like crap. Are you ok? Are you spoilt, like spoilt milk." Sam burst out laughing and Dean could barely make out the words "sour" and "manky" before Sam fell fast asleep.

"Well that was freaky." Dean shot his dad a small smile before settling down next to Sam. Although his little brother was tall, they were both skinny and could just about lie down side by side.

"That's one word for it, I was thinking hilarious. Anyway, no teasing him later, that's gonna be my job. You should get some sleep to champ. I'll be right here waiting for you in the morning and we can head out of here if the docs say Sammy's up for it."

"Awesome." Dean closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come. It was a very long wait.

…

Dean jolted awake with a gasp, drenched in sweat and panting hard as if he had run a marathon, or as if he had been let out of a tiny dark hole without oxygen, which had been what he was dreaming about.

"Dean?" John blinked up at his son blearily from his hunched position, having heard his eldest son crying out in his sleep and yelling "let me out…don't…please. The chairs in hospital were not any comfier than he remembered and it felt as if someone had hung him from the ceiling by his throat judging by the pain in his neck.

"M'fine."

"Sure?" John rubbed at his eyes blearily and looked at his son, who frankly appeared ghastly.

"Yeah. It's just, my leg hurts a bit." But that wasn't what was bothering him.

"Want me to take a look?"

"Yeah, I need the toilet anyway."

"Fine." John quickly gave Sam a once over before watching Dean hobble to his feet and make his way out of the corridor and into the bathroom.

John sat Dean down on the lid of a toilet and checked his leg over, it had bled through the bandages and there was some yellow gunge visible. John had hoped the infection wouldn't get this bad, but he had come prepared with some antibiotics from the Impala's trunk. Dean took them gratefully before looking awkwardly at his Dad, who got up and was about to make himself look busy at the sink when Dean called him.

"Dad, the lock's broken, can you hold the door for me." It was a downright lie, but for once Dean was willing to deceive his father. He just didn't want to lock the door, it would be too much like shutting himself in deliberately, and if he got stuck then… Dean swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat at the thought of being trapped and forced himself to breathe deeply, otherwise his dad would know there was something wrong.

"Dean, just go, I'll make sure no one goes in." John had a sneaking suspicion that Dean was lying to him and just didn't want to shut the door, but he wanted to get Dean back to normal as soon as possible. The sooner Dean faced his fears the better.

When Dean was done and had regained control of his breathing he made his way back to Sam, cringing at the narrow corridors and feeling sweat trickling down the back of his neck. God he just wanted to get to their next motel and forget all about this!

When they got back Sam was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling evenly and his arms hugging the pillow where Dean had been earlier. Dean drew up one of the uncomfortable chairs and settled down next to Sam, staring at his brother's sleeping form and wishing that he had been able to do something to save him from at least some of the pain. He would have willingly taken it all away into his own body if he could.

When Sam finally stirred he saw Dean right away, his older brother reading a car magazine and looking rather distracted, and pale.

"Morning sunshine."

"Hey Dean."

"Hey lazy ass, I swear you could sleep through a hurricane!"

"Dean, are you ok? You don't look too good"

"You can talk, you look like a mummy."

"You look like a zombie. You're all pale, and you look like your gonna puke."

"Well I'm not, so shut your cake hole." Dean gave Sam a gentle shove before turning his attention back to his magazine, aware of the fact that John had closed the door behind them. However, he relaxed when a nurse came in with some pills for Sam and to check over his leg, leaving the door open behind her.

"Do you think he can go home now? It's just Sam has an essay to do for school and we don't want to waste any of your limited time." John gave the nurse his most charming smile and grinned when she said that it seemed as though Sam would make a full recovery and was free to go.

Of course, he had been warned to keep the weight off of his leg and to use crutches for the next month, but at least he could go back to school and maybe Mr Dant would let him off for handing in his essay late.

Dean was also glad; he would be able to escape the never-ending narrow corridors and locked doors on every side of him.

…

They left just before lunch that day; John had promised Dean a burger and Sam a salad at his favourite diner. By the time they got there Dean really did look ready to throw up, or to curl up in a ball and cry. He couldn't really do either though, he didn't want to ruin Baby's upholstery and he couldn't show weakness in front of Sam. The only thing he could do was open the window so he at least felt like he was getting some air.

He gratefully jumped out of the car, stepping away from her and rubbing his head wearily with shaking hands, which he quickly shoved in his jacket pockets before Sam or Dad would notice.

"You alright Dean?"

"Yeah, starvin!"

"Let's go in then."

Half an hour later Dean was shoving his last chilli-fry in his mouth, the wrappings from two double cheeseburgers with bacon, four empty cups of Coke and an empty plate with a few crumbs of pastry the only evidence of his binge.

He really needed to go to the bathroom after the coke but knew that in such a public place, full of young families, he would have to lock the door. Or get his dad to hold it open again, but he hardly thought his dad would fall for the broken lock trick again.

"Dad, do you need the toilet?"

"No, me and Sammy will wait here for you." Dean shot his dad a desperate look but John turned away, feeling ever so slightly guilty about ignoring his son's plea between the lines.

"It's ok, I don't really need to go that bad."

"Dean, we have another 70 miles, go."

"But…"

"That's an order."

"Ok, Dad." Resigned to his fate Dean made his way to the bathroom, steeled himself and shut himself in one of the cubicles, locking the door without looking, maybe he could just trick his mind into thinking it wasn't locked. If he couldn't see it, it couldn't hurt him. But that was ridiculous and Dean knew it. He forced himself to get on with it and with shaking hands he flushed the toilet and unlocked the door. Or at least, he would have done if the lock wasn't jammed. No matter how hard he tried, the lock was stuck, his shaking hands fumbling and being cut by the sharp metal edges of the offending door.

"Dad!" Dean felt sick and promptly threw up the two burgers, extra-large chilli fries and slice of pie which he had eaten, groaning as the room spun around him and he began to choke on the nothingness, as surely there was no more air left in the room for him to inhale and choke on. Dean was vaguely aware of cheery music being played from loudspeakers before he passed out, his limbs sprawling out across the cold, dirty floor.

"God, what's taking him so long?" John bounced his foot impatiently, Dean was taking an age. He hadn't been this much trouble since before Mary had died!

"Do you think we should…?"

"No, he'll come back in a minute."

But Dean didn't come.

Suddenly worried, John stood up, paid the bill and helped Sam up on his crutches, making his way to the toilets where his heart froze. All of the cubicles apart from the one closest to the door were empty, leaving the first cubicle, which had an arm sticking out from underneath it.

"Shit! Dean! Dean?" John crouched down on the floor and peered underneath the door. He could make out Dean's chest rising and falling softly, but his son's eyes were closed and it was clear that he had been violently sick.

"Dad?"

"Stand back Sammy, I'm going to knock the door in." John knew that the door would hit Dean's side if he knocked it open, but that was better than leaving his son lying unconscious on the floor.

"Dad, what's wrong with him."

"He's just unconscious." With that John slammed his entire body weight into the door, not even yielding a few millimetres out of it.

"Damn, lock's jammed. Balls!" John realised with sudden clarity what had happened, Dean must have freaked when he realised that he couldn't get out, and he had just left Dean in there, thinking he was being bratty. Damn.

"Dean?" John heard a muffled sob come from under the door and peeked under, seeing Dean's terrified green eyes staring straight back at him.

"Dad! Let me out, please let me out. I can't. Please. Dad I can't breathe. Get me out! I can't get out." Dean's garbled speech was punctuated by loud sobs and hitching breaths and John felt his heart constrict at the pitiful sounds.

"It's ok Dean, I'll get you out. Just get away from the door." John kicked the door with all his might, Sam watching bewildered at this turn of events. Dean was crying?

Dean obeyed, withdrawing from the door and curling up in the smallest ball possible, his arms wrapped around his head.

By the time John managed to kick the door in, Dean was a wreck. He didn't even have the will-power to stand, instead allowing John to carry him out by the sinks.

Uncertainly, Sam went over to his brother, wrapping an arm around his broad, quaking shoulders and resting his head on Dean's chest to let him know he was there. Sam knew it was bad when Dean didn't protest to this chick-flick moment and he shot his Dad worried look, but John just shook his head. He would explain later.

"Dean, are you ok now champ? Do you feel up to leaving?" Dean gave a small nod and wiped his nose and mouth on the back of his sleeve, grimacing and flushing a deep pink. Well that was embarrassing.

The first thing Dean did when they arrived at the motel was to kick off his boots and slump onto the nearest bed, pulling his covers up over his head to make it clear that he wanted to be left alone.

Sam and John respected this, making their way out into the gardens and settling down on a bench when Sam's hands hurt too much from the crutches.

"Dad, what's wrong with him. Why was Dean…y'know. I mean, I don't think less of him, it's just that he never shows any signs of weakness and then suddenly he is passing out and crying."

"Sam, Dean had a panic attack."

"What?"

"It's kind of when you get really scared, but not just, ahh kinda scared, I mean…"

"I know what a panic attack is, I just mean why? What was Dean scared of? What aren't you telling me, he hasn't been right since the mansion?!"

"When we were both out of it I think Dean led the poltergeist away from us, to protect us and give us a little time. The thing was that it locked him up in a wardrobe and Dean must have been really scared. He was trapped in there for quite a long time, I had to leave him to get you to hospital and…"

"YOU LEFT HIM!"

"Sam, I had to. You were dying."

"BUT…"

"Don't take that tone with me boy. Just listen. I had to do it, otherwise you would have died. But Dean was in a pretty bad shape when I got back, I think he had been through a fair few panic attacks and he was quite badly hurt. He keeps flipping out now whenever he feels trapped, or like he can't breathe."

"What do you mean keeps? How many has he had?"

"Um, however many there were in the wardrobe, one when I got him out, one in the hospital corridors and one just now."

"Oh god. This is all my fault."

"No it isn't Sam."

"If I hadn't got hurt then…"

"You can't think like that. You have to stay strong for Dean."

"Yes Dad. Sorry." Sam got back to his crutches and hurried back to the motel room, sinking down on Dean's bed and cuddling close to his brother. Dean continued to feign sleep but when Sam prodded him in the side he gave up and peeled open his eyes.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"Peachy."

"I mean it, are you ok?"

"I'd be fine if it wasn't for the bitch prodding me when I'm trying to sleep."

"You sure?"

"Yes, drop it. Do something useful and do your essay."

"I thought essays and school were a waste of time, not useful."

"Don't be cheeky, bitch."

"You and Dad said it, jerk."

"Whatever."

"Right back at you." Sam grinned at his brother as he hit him around the head with a pillow and made his way over to his own bed.

Whatever this was, he was sure Dean would be able to deal with it, probably in his own stubborn 'you will not get the best of me' kind of way.

…

It was nine years later and Sam was slumped in the passenger's seat of the Impala, leafing through a map, half watching his older brother who was singing loudly to Led Zeppelin and half trying to work out where the nearest motel was.

"Where the hell are we at the moment?"

"How am I meant to know, you're the one with the map."

"You're driving."

"Yeah, your point is?"

"That you should know where you are driving!"

"Whatever, Bitch."

Unfortunately for the Winchesters Sam eventually worked out that they were still another three hours away from anywhere. Literally anywhere. There wasn't even a McDonalds in sight!

For Dean, this was a big problem considering the fact that he was already getting a bit panicky.

He had already spent five hours shut up in the car and although he had learnt to manage his claustrophobia over the past few years with breathing techniques and just plain stubbornness, he still found himself having panic attacks now and again. Most commonly in the car, which caused him an insane amount of distress considering how much he loved driving his baby. But hey, you win some, you loose some. Or at least that is what he tried to tell himself.

Dean managed to keep his cool for another half an hour before he felt the panic really setting in, and Sam hadn't failed to notice the way in which he clung to the Impala's steering wheel and put down the window in an attempt to let in some air.

"You ok, Dean?"

"Yep." Sam knew it was bad. As soon as Dean took on sharp, one word responses, it meant trouble. It was clear that Dean was verging on a panic attack and there was nothing much Sam could do about it. He was never able to persuade Dean to pull over.

Although Dean managed to cover up most of his attacks, half the time even Sam didn't notice, there were definite tells. Like the fact that he started to sweat, his hands still shook a little and he would start nervously tapping with his fingers, in this case Metallica, on the Impala's dashboard.

"Dean, if you need to pull over I'm cool with it. We only have a couple more hours to go, we can take a break." It was worth a try. Well, it was a waste of breath to be honest but Sam felt better having tried.

"M'fine." Dean Winchester does not admit weakness. Especially not in front of his kid brother.

"Fine. Suit yourself." Sam pretended to turn his attention back to his map, but he was really watching the colour drain from his brother's face out of the corner of his eye.

"Dean?"

"Shut up." Dean managed another fifteen minutes of driving before abruptly pulling over, throwing the door open without bothering to close it and then staggering to a tree, which he leant against and doubled over. God he felt so carsick, although he would have died before admitting it.

Sam gave a small sigh, why Dean hadn't just pulled over before his panic attack got this bad, he just couldn't comprehend. He knew Dean hated showing weakness, but really, now he was hunched up against a tree trying not to throw up.

Sam sighed a little before clambering out of his own car door, stretching out his overly long legs for a moment before making his way over to his brother.

"Dean?"

"M'fine." Sure you are.

"You sure man?" Dean jerked his head in a sharp nod, staring down at the ground and waiting for the spinning sensation to pack it in.

Sam wanted nothing more than to go over and support his shaking brother, but he knew that would only make things worse. When Dean was like this, he would freak out at any touch.

If Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder, Dean would feel as if he was being held down and couldn't move.

If Sam put his hand on Dean's back, the pressure made Dean feel as if he was trapped and confined.

An arm around the waist would make him feel as if his lungs were being pressed down upon.

Therefore, Sam merely hovered a few feet away from his older brother feeling utterly useless. But at least Dean knew that his younger brother was close by and there for him.

Eventually, when Dean finally managed to pull himself together, he straightened himself out and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a sleeve, grimacing a little.

"Sorry bout that."

"Don't be silly Dean, its fine." Dean nodded curtly and made his way back to the impala, pausing before getting in.

"I don't suppose you uh, want to drive?"

"Sure." Sam smiled at him with a false, overly cheerful smile, knowing that this was Dean's way of saying he still didn't feel great.

"Thanks Sammy."

"Anytime." Sam entered the driver's seat and began to fiddle with the radio, turning it onto a folk station.

"What the hell Sammy?!"

"Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts his cakehole." Sam grinned from ear to ear, finally glad to use Dean's line against him. God it felt good!

Dean just humphed and rolled down his window, this was torture!

If there is a god, someone would hand me a gun right now!

…

Dean was sitting bolt upright, not out of choice but because he was currently tied to a stiff wooden chair with four lengths of ropes around his torso, wrists, waist and ankles, not to mention the handcuffs that joined the ropes around his wrists to hooks on the chair arm. All in all, he was not moving anywhere.

"Hey you black eyed bitch, get me the fuck off of this thing or I swear to God I will stab you!"

"Sorry sweetie, God is out at the moment, but I can take a message if you want."

"You son of a bitch!"

"Tut tut Winchester, didn't your Mummy teach you anything about manners? Oh yes, sorry I forgot, one of my brothers murdered her in cold blood before she had the chance."

"YOU!"

"Yes, me. The one and only."

"Let me go! Fight fair!"

"I'm a demon, I don't do fair, or honest, or a lot of things really. Sorry to disappoint." The demon's face twisted sardonically, or at least it's pretty meat suit did, her perfectly plump lips seeming to snarl in disgust as her deep blue eyes pierced Dean like knives.

Dean could feel the terror building up inside him. Not only was he completely defenseless and in the clutches of a demon, he was also separated from Sam and tied down. It took Dean all that he had not to display his fear. Haughtiness and confidence, be them false or not, were his only weapon right now. The fact that he was bordering on having a panic attack was not helping the matter at all.

"Oh Dean, my sweet little pop tart, I can smell the fear radiating off of you. How cute."

"I am not scared of you!"

"But you should be cutie-pie." With that the demon drew out a knife from her pocket and began to twiddle it between her forefingers before bringing it down hard against his chest and drawing blood.

Dean refused to make a sound.

He may have been terrified about being tied down, but as a hunter, pain was one thing that he can deal with.

"You can't fool me Deanie, I can see that you are hurting, go on, let it all out."

"In your dreams bitch."

"I don't dream sweetheart." With that the demon began bringing the knife down again and again on Dean's bare chest, only managing to elicit a couple of grunts. Eventually frustration kicked in and she stopped pulling the punches, digging the knife deep into his flesh before spinning on her heels and slamming the door behind her, leaving Dean in pitch blackness.

Now that he was alone, Dean finally gave up on suppressing his feelings, beginning to tremble and sweat as he felt the room beginning to constrict around him. The darkness was swallowing him up.

"LET ME OUT!"

Half an hour later Dean completely lost it, struggling hard against his restraints and sobbing in terror as blood continued to ooze from the deep cuts and stab wound on his chest.

Please let me out. Sammy! Oh God Sammy, get me out of here, please. Anyone, help me.

Dean was barely conscious when he heard the flutter of wings. Or at least he thought he had, but surely Cas wasn't really here…he never came. Not any more.

"Dean?" Dean heard a familiar gravely tone and could barely believe his ears.

"Cas? Cas is that you?"

"Yes Dean, who else would I be?" Castiel sounded genuinely confused, walking in front of Dean with his head tilted.

"What made you decide to mojo your feathery ass here?"

"You called for me."

"No I didn't"

"You were sending out signals of distress, I responded. I can leave if you wish, it's just you look as if you could do with some help."

"NO, I mean, just get me the hell out of here." Castiel nodded and began to untie Dean rope by rope.

"Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean let out a small grunt through clenched teeth. It was taking all he had to keep all of the tears and emotions bottled up.

"You appear to be shaking. Are you in distress?"

"No. M'fine."

"Why are you crying then?"

"I am not crying."

"Drops of salt water are trickling down your face, crying is still the correct term for that, isn't it."

"Shut it, Cas." Castiel closed his mouth and continued to untie Dean before touching two fingers to his forehead and making the deep gashes on Dean's chest disappear, leaving the blood to dry against his pale face.

"Cas, can you just get me out of here now?"

"Of course Dean."

Less than a few seconds later Dean found himself in his motel room, facing Sam who was asleep on one of the twin beds.

"Thanks Cas."

Dean sank down onto his own bed and grabbed some antiseptic wipes from his duffle, cleaning up the left over blood, looking up when Sam let out a groan as he stirred.

"Dean?"

"Morning." Dean tried his hardest to keep the slight tremble out of his voice, but failed.

"What's wrong?" Sam sat up and looked over at his brother, surprised to see Castiel hovering uncertainly behind him.

"Nothing."

"Dean was trapped in a dark room, bound up by a demon. He was crying and I believe that he may have been suffering from what you humans call a panic attack, but he insists that he is fine."

"Gee, thanks Sherlock."

"I do not understand that reference."

"Whatever." Dean stood from the bed and grabbed some beers out of the fridge, chucking one to Castiel and one to Sam.

"Dean, talk to me man."

"No chance."

"Dean, you can't just pent up your emotions!"

"Just you watch me bitch."

"I agree with your brother Dean, many feel a lot better after confessional, it may do you good."

"Get out of my ass Cas!"

"I am not in your ass?"

"Yeah, well…"

"Dean!"

"I just don't like being tied down, that's all."

"Why not?"

"Just because, Cas!"

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it Dean?"

"Yes, Cas, you are free to go fly away and bugger off to heaven, or wherever it is you disappear off to these days."

"Ok." Cas was just about to disappear into nothingness when Dean quickly interjected again, feeling guilty about being so harsh with the angel.

"Look, Cas, I'm sorry for being a jerk."

"That's ok Dean, I forgive you."

"Uh, thanks."

"Just give me a call if you need me again."

With that Castiel disappeared into thin air, leaving Dean to explain to Sam how he had ended up tied to a chair by a demon and leaving Sam to question how he had let it happen. He should have been there for his brother.  
…

The next morning Dean woke up and blinked blearily, surprised when he heard a massive thudding noise.

"What the hell was that Dean?"

"Wasn't me…oh…" Dean looked down in surprise when he saw the huge pile of leaflets and books lying at the foot of his bed.

"What the hell?" Dean scooped up the top five books and read the titles, all of them referring to coping with Claustrophobia. Then, he spotted the post-it note on top which had beautiful calligraphy-like writing scrawled across it.

Thought these might help, sorry for not talking to you but you were asleep and you taught me that sleep is important for humans. I did not want to interfere with your personal space. 

Castiel.

Dean couldn't help but smile a little at the thoughtfulness of his angel.

"So, what are they?"

"Nothing Sam, go back to bed." Sam gave a little nod and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head and soon beginning to snore, oblivious to how Dean was beginning to read his first book since he was twelve (excluding the diaries of hunters).

At least he now had Cas to help him as well as well as Sam, all be it in his own special way.

The End


End file.
